The Only Way
by BlankChalkboard
Summary: Christine has been contentedly married to Raoul for 4 years. She has been looking for her Angel ever since that night, but he has evaded and blatantly refused to see her. This is her last resort.
1. Chapter 1

AN: I own nothing but the ideas in my head. First try at writing PotO. This is a one-shot…Maybe.

Chapter 1: The Only Way

She held her breath, impatiently waiting for the soft thud of the front door closing. When it started, Christine had caught a few handy men oiling the hinges, and even a carpenter installing a new door, frame and all, but no matter how hard Raoul tried, he could not make the door be completely silent. He was no magician, after all.

Which is why, after eating their supper together, and, afterwards, retiring to the study to read and talk, Christine watched closely as Raoul slowly started to fidget, progressing rapidly into a state of unrest, doing his best to pay attention to his wife, who was amusedly acting as if she didn't notice her husband deeply sighing, as he repeatedly glanced at the grandfather clock that lay nestled between the stairs and the hallway to the kitchen, beyond the study doors. Finally, she took pity on her husband, yawning widely and rubbing her eyes vigorously, feigning a sleep she did not feel.

Years of falling asleep after having cried for hours, grieving over the death of her father, and later as she got tutored by _him,_ had made Christine a bit of a night owl, used to staying up well into the night.

Five minutes later, Christine heard the second sign of her husband's departure from their home, the slowly trot of horse's hooves on the pavement, as Raoul did a wide loop around the back of the house, to its front, so as to hide that the horse and rider were coming from their stables. Just then, the clock struck midnight, and Christine threw the covers off of her body, climbing out of bed to reveal that she was still wearing her corset and daytime underthings. She pulled on her blue practical dress, tied her sensible brown boots, and wrapped her warmest cloak around her shoulders, as she headed downstairs.

All the household staff had gone to their homes for the night, so Christine made little attempt to be silent, although, years of ballet training and having to sneak about the Opera Populaire, had given her feet a graceful tread that was barely heard. She made her way outside, closing the door behind her with a louder click than Raoul's, and spotted the carriage waiting for her behind a tree, on the other side of the gravel road.

Christine received a brief nod and a "Madame," from the driver. He already knew to be discreet and where to go, as Christine climbed into the buggy without a word.

It was once she was inside, sitting on the soft cushion, rubbing her hands along the velvet fabric running along her thighs in a soothing manner, and also to dry her sweaty hands, that her heart began to pound a rapid drum inside her ears.

After much persuasion, begging and years of crying, her Angel had repeatedly refused to see her. Madame Giry finally took pity on the young woman slowly crumbling in front of her, and revealed what she had been able to gather from the Persian, about his "comrade's" whereabouts each night. The three of them formulated a plan, that would, hopefully, bring them together, at last.

 _Utter insanity,_ Christine thought, as the driver made his long way to the center of the city from the outskirts, where the _De Chagny Chateau_ was located. She did not worry or look back. Raoul wouldn't be back until shortly before sunrise. It was enough time.

As the cab, made its way through the cobbled streets, Christine pulled the hood of her cloak low over her face, hiding her thick, dark curls, and eyes from view. As much as she was willing to risk everything, she could not be recognized.

Her destination was a small, demure house, shadowed by a church. Its nondescript appearance, so unlike the rest of the ostentatious houses of the street, that most peoples' gaze skipped over it as if by magic. The tired driver, wanting to go home to warm up and rest, deftly maneuvered the horse to the back of the house, and with an agility that deceived his old age, climbed down, and knocked on the back door in a series of 3-2-4 taps, as Christine made her way out of the carriage. The door almost immediately opened as if by itself, and the driver barely glanced at Christine blankly, before quickly making his way out of the driveway.

Christine, forcing herself not to think about what she was doing, automatically entered, and unconsciously followed the plump woman with unnatural flaming red hair in front of her, focusing on regulating her breathing and quieting her pulse, as she was guided to the farthest room n the back of the establishment.

The room itself was nothing special, all the furniture was of a deep cherry wood, a rickety table in the corner, a lamp with no shade on top of it, with a simple chair next to it. A twin sized bed, with a faded gold comforter, and a large dresser perpendicular to it. On the back corner was a door ajar, with the light on inside, leading to a small bathroom. It was all thoroughly clean.

Christine was startled out of her reverie of the room, when the lady closed the door firmly behind her. Madame Canelle knew his routine better than anyone. He had been coming here for close to six months.

When she had first heard that her Angel, _(Erik, call him Erik, Christine!_ ), was visiting a modest brothel in the middle of the city, Christine was surprised to find that she all felt was relieved. _It meant that he was still_ here _._

Monsieur Kahn had made sure to reassure her that _it wasn't what she was thinking_.

Christine remembered the exact instructions she was to follow. She walked to the chair, and sat on it to bend over and unlaced her boots, which she placed under the table. Next, she took off her cloak, dress, corset and stockings, draping them over the chair. In nothing left but her chemise, she quickly turned off the lamp light on the table, lighting a lonesome candle, before making her way to the bathroom. On the sink she found a tiny bottle of rose water, the humble brand that she herself could afford while she was a ballet rat. She placed a drop behind each ear, in the crook of her elbows, and behind her knees. She didn't bother looking at her reflection in the mirror. Christine was terrified of what she would find, the elation and guilt she felt coursing through her veins threatening to overwhelm her as it was.

 _She was ready._

She made her way back to the room, turned off the bathroom light, and laid down in the bed on top of the covers by the light of the candle. As she leaned back and touched the cushion headboard, embroidered with delicate flowers, a clock somewhere in the brothel chimed one in the morning, and a wind that had no origin, blew softly in the room, blowing out the light from the candle, and instantaneously every nerve in Christine's body came alive. Without having opened the room's door, _he was here._

 _Here._

In the same room as her, after four years.

Christine was very shocked to find that the girl he frequented here was very similar to her. Almost the same height and dancer's built, except that her hair was black and straight, which he demanded she curl on his nights. The biggest difference was that the girl just didn't smell like her.

It didn't take much persuasion, thankfully, a hefty price, all that was needed for the girl to take the night off, after departing with the precise directions that were given to her the first time Erik requested her services.

 _Be silent, he won't like it if you talk. He'll direct you how he wants you._

 _It isn't what you think._

Christine laid completely still. Hiding her face beneath her curls as her legs slightly opened, and her arms rested by her sides. She stifled a gasp as she felt the mattress dip, a knee between her knees, and his arms trapping her beneath him. His nose dove into her hair, which Christine struggled to swallow a moan but couldn't help but to arch her neck to give him more access. They'd never come close enough to touch like this, and a burning hot jealousy suddenly scorched her, as she imagined Erik doing this with any woman but her.

 _Mine._

She was startled as she felt hot tears coursing down her cheeks, but was grateful to find that they weren't hers. _Lord knows what he would think if I start crying on him._ Instead, she felt him intimately cradle the disfigured side of his face between her breasts, and lay the complete weight of his body on top of hers, as he gathered her in his arms, his body shaking as he pressed his sobs into her skin. This was her cue to wrap her own arms around him.

Delicately, like the touch a feather, she started to comb his downy hair behind his good ear, which she gently rub the shell after each stroke with her thumb and point finger, while holding him close with the other arm.

 _This was all he ever asked for when he came here, just to be held by someone that would feel and smell like me,_ Christine brokenly thought.

How precious the moment was, she couldn't put into words, but she felt the blinding pain of each new rip her heart received, when she felt his clawed like hands, desperately digging into her ribs, a refusal to let go.

"Christine. _Oh, Christine!"_ Erik choked out on an exhale.

Christine, miserable that she couldn't tell her Angel that it was her, _his Christine_ , for fear that he would run from her and hide where she could never find him, pulled him closer to her.

She could feel his heartbeat, pounding away at her chest, her own heart, answering the call of its mate. Because she knew that to be the truth now, had known since the moment she had woken next to Raoul after their wedding night, the sun angrily piercing her eyes through her eyelids. She was not waking up from wedded bliss next to her soulmate.

But what was she to do when the ring that represented her marriage to Raoul, was heavier on her mind than on her finger? She wanted to be a proper lady, and everyone was making sure to tell her again and again that Erik was _gone._

 _But he's here. Now._

Again, the house echoed with the chime of the hour. _Two o'clock, we have one more hour._

Erik had quiet down, and Christine tried to subtlety look down at him, but the room was in utter darkness. Only sound and touch. Christine could quietly hear Erik's even breathing and felt his heavy weight settle on her even more. He was dead asleep.

The girl had never talked about him falling asleep on her. She had said he would usually have her hold him first, and then they would settle on each other's side, his front to her back, and an arm draped lazily across her stomach, but that she could always tell that he was awake. This was unprecedented.

Christine tried to settle more comfortably with Erik on her, but even that slight movement caused Erik to tighten his arms around her. They had one more hour before she had to go. Madame Canelle had made it very clear that Erik only paid two hours, they could only stay two hours, so to make sure to leave before the Madame had to come in and demand they leave, and risk Erik finding out it had been her all along.

 _He can't know yet. He'll make sure I never find him again._

He had been so adamant that he never wanted to see her again.

 _If this is all I can have, this is all I will take._

There was a sharp but soft knock on the door, signaling that there were fifteen minutes left, but Erik did not stir. Christine had to act, and she had to do it fast. Delivering one last kiss to his high forehead, and as slowly and gently as she possibly could with the clock ticking, Christine managed to steer and angle her body away, replacing herself with a pillow, that Erik hugged close to him.

She felt the immediate emptiness within her own bones almost buckle her to ashes.

Not daring to try to touch him again as much as she wanted to in the darkness, Christine blindly made her way to the chair, only donning her cloak and gathering the rest of her clothing, before silently making her way to door, that was framed by a rectangle of little light from the hallway. Barely opening it, so as to let as little light as possible, she once again, swiftly made her way downstairs, only managing a small nod towards Madame Canelle in thanks. She found another carriage waiting for her right outside and made herself muster up the strength to leave the little house without looking back. As soon as she had closed the passenger door, the driver quickly drove away.

She could finally let the tears fall in her loneliness.

—

In the brothel room, Erik woke suddenly, Christine on his lips, but he found himself desolately alone for a second, before the Madame knocked and told him his time was up. Erik made to get up, and go through his own trap door in the brothel, but he got a whiff of rosewater on the pillow, which froze his departure. It smelled so much like _her._

 _—_


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I don't own anything but the AU ideas in my head. Still a chapter to chapter WIP. I know it's choppy, but it's the same way my own brain narrates. I also don't have a beta, so sorry for the grammar and spelling mistakes.

Thanks to Bonpetitepoodles, Whatanidea15, and Cario for being my first reviewers!

Please review.

The Only Way

Chapter 2

There was no question that she had to return.

Christine had known that it would prove almost impossible to only see him once. Or rather, only hold him once. And now that she had finally gotten to be close to him again, she knew she could never walk away from him, _again_. The only answer left to seek then, was to how she was to manage to go back every night he requested services.

It was true, that Raoul was gone most nights after midnight. It was also true, that Erik had his set nights with the girl. It was odd to think that both men were so scrupulous with their schedules, but Christine could find no objection. The problem lay if Raoul didn't leave for the set nights. Was she to make some excuse, or try to sneak out?

Raoul wouldn't seek her for the night once she'd gone to bed, but if she made up an emergency to away from the Chateau, he would insist on accompanying her. _That's how inconsistent he has always been as a husband._

That's why the next morning found Christine sitting across from Monsieur Kahn and Madame Giry. She had promised to meet with them to alleviate any worries they might have had about the night before, and Christine's plan was already forming on her tongue, to what will, most assuredly, be their dismay.

"I want to take the girl's place, _everytime_ Erik goes to that brothel," Christine firmly stated, which caused Monsieur Kahn to choke on his buttered croissant, and Madame Giry to narrow her eyes skeptically. Christine returned her gaze. "From now on, I will be the only one that Erik sees." Christine took a moment to meet their stares to show her seriousness, "However, I know that it will not be as easy each time as it was last night, which is why I would like your help to formulate a plan. Will you help me?"

It was Madame Giry who spoke first:

"Have you taken the time to think this through, Christine? If found out, it would ruin you."

"Not only that, but you might not make it out alive if Erik discovers you!" Monsieur Kahn intercepted.

"I'm willing to risk discovery, and with all due respect, I know for _certain_ that Erik would never harm me."

"What of the Vicomte?"

At this, Christine turned her head and put the whole disappointment of her marriage, usually hidden, in full display for foster Mom to see. "The Vicomte, is none of your business, Madame."

The tension that rose between the two women, made Monsieur Kahn lean back in his chair, mouth slightly agape, until -

"A sleeping potion."

Christine turned to look at him, "Monsieur?"

"I'm guessing from the little you have told us of your marriage, that the VIcomte, heads out every night?" Christine slowly nodded. "Therefore, the only problem would be if for some reason he decided to stay on a night, when Erik requires his… _services_."

At this, the ballet Mistress made a moue of distaste, which the Persian man ignored. " All you would need is a few drops of a sleeping potion in your husband's drink, and you would be free to go for six hours."

Christine blinked at him owlishly, "That's it?"

"Were you of wanting of something else?" The Persian asked jovially.

"NO! Of course not… It's just that I didn't expect it to be quite so _easy_."

"I'm afraid, my dear Vicomtesse _,_ that it will never be easy. You are putting a lot at stake here."

Christine stared at both of them levelly, "My Angel is worth it."

' _When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,_

 _I all alone beweep my outcast state,"_

Erik takes a full gulp from a bottle of brandy as he stares at nothing, and stands on top of Notre Dame. He, typically, finds it quite amusing to be in the place of another hopeless romantic monster. But he doesn't notice the full moon hanging over the Seine or the flock of birds flying by. He only feels the freezing wind enveloping his body, attempting to overthrow his body into the abyss.

' _And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,_

 _And look upon myself and curse my fate,'_

Christine has been married for four years. And it was on her wedding night that Erik had first tried to hire a woman of the night.

 _Tried to get rid of her with another, as she was doing._

The first brothel he'd gone to, a popular one with decorations much too gaudy for his taste, had offered a seasoned woman, who did not even blinked at his mask (she had had her fair share of scarred and crippled soldiers, to be surprised by anything), and she was kind and had a soft voice, but she was _wrong_ for Erik. So, Erik paid her the night, and told her to get some rest. The second, third, and _fourth_ brothels proved to be of similar disappointment. It wasn't until one late afternoon a year ago, as he was trying to expel some energy by walking amongst the deep shadows made by the sunset, that he spotted a girl. His heart had stopped beating for a second, thinking it was his first glance of Christine since _that_ night, when the girl's jet black straight hair, burst his bubble. Yet, there was something curious about the little urchin that intrigued him, and because he'd fancy playing the hunter for a while, Erik decided to follow her. As she wound down through the streets of Paris for about ten minutes, and finally entered a small, blue house on the corner, with the driveway curving around the back, Erik noted that she was probably a servant.

It wasn't until he saw different men entering and leaving at different time intervals, but with a sheen of sweat and a dazed look on their faces that he figured out where he was.

It took all of two seconds before he crossed the street, and made his way inside and demanded to know about the girl.

' _wishing me to like one more rich in scope,_

 _Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,'_

And now, Erik was running the risk of becoming obsessed with this _slip_ of a girl. For ever since last night when he woke up incredibly rested from a rare sleep, with the exact scent of Christine on his nostrils, but the soft feel of the girl's skin on his, he could not help but think that he needed the girl, _Irene_ , _now._ Christine was still ever present in his thoughts and _Irene_ was the only one that kept him from doing something he most definitely shouldn't.

How could he miss someone that had never remotely belonged to him, and that in the end, he had never truly known. How could one person take _all_ from him, when the rest of the horrible events of his life hadn't.

Revenge had given me everything, and love left me with nothing.

' _Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,_

 _With what I most enjoy contented least;'_

Erik had thought that Christine wanted music above all, not a foppish _Prince Charming._ And as much as he had feared losing Christine- life had taught him to be eternally pessimistic, after all- he'd never thought Christine was actually _superficial._ No matter how much he'd try to fight the hope of one day having Christine for himself, he'd never thought she would turn her back on music. That was what bonded them. And to leave it all behind for _him._ He knew she didn't sing anymore, she didn't even attend the Opera.

It was all too painful.

Yet he still loved her. And he _knew_ that Christine _loved him, Erik._

' _Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,_

 _Haply I think on thee- and then my state,'_

That was what broke him every day, and why he needed Irene. It was the only way to forget and to live in an hour of what could've been. He never did more than hold Irene. He didn't know why, but he just wanted it to be something precious and untouched. His body only wanted to know Christine's. This was enough.

Or it was until last night. Now, Erik felt a shift, that left him feeling like the earth had been moved from under him, and he just didn't understand, _what had changed_. He just knew that he needed Irene, now. Erik threw the brandy bottle into the air (without caring where it landed), turned his back on the rising sun, climbed down the steps of the Basilica, and made his way to Madame Canelle's brothel to make arrangements for that night with Irene. He was breaking his usual routine of Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays with her, but he didn't give a damn.

' _Like to the lark at break of day arising_

 _From sullen earth sings hymns at heaven's gate;_

 _For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,_

 _That then I scorn to change my state with kings,'_

She was all he had left.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I still own nothing. This chapter is going to be very bemusing, but I don't want to lay it all out yet. Also, I don't know how long this story might be, but it definitely won't be epic.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed!

The Only Way

Chapter 3:

After her meeting with Madame Giry and Monsieur Kahn, and with the sleeping potion in her small string purse, Christine entered her home with Raoul. She had been supposed to have been back in time to share lunch with her husband, but she had needed to wait for Monsieur Kahn to go purchase and bring the potion for her, and the morning tea had run a little late as it were. Yet, as she found Raoul in his study, going over some rather large ledges, it seemed that he had not even noticed that his wife had missed their promised meal, for that was exactly how she had left him five hours ago.

With a silent, exasperated sigh, and a small roll of the eyes, Christine made her way to standing in front of the large mahogany desk her husband was hunched over. "Darling, curve any lower over those pages, and you'll be The Hunchback of Notre Dame in ten years," Christine said with a teasing smile.

Raoul startled for a moment before replying with an easy grin "Well, my love, you would know how to pick the monsters apart."

Christine stood in silence for a millisecond, before chuckling in agreement.

Raoul… Kind, wonderful, Raoul had learnt after waking up five times to Christine screaming from a nightmare in the week after fleeing the Opera Populaire, that Christine's monster, would forever stay with her. Raoul was loyal and loved Christine to a fault, and he had _decided_ to save Christine, even from herself, so he had married her.

They never spoke about _him_ , but they both accepted that he was always there, inside Christine's mind. Yet they both considered themselves to have a happy marriage. It was the strangest thing, but, despite it all, they _worked well together._

Raoul got up to properly greet his wife, wrapping his arms around her small waist, and slightly picking her off the ground, he gave her a sweet kiss on her pretty lips, as she clutched tightly to him.

"You missed lunch," Raoul said disapprovingly. Christine smiled and arched an eyebrow. "Annnnnnd so did I… Tea, then?"

"Sounds lovely, let me down?" Christine replied, while patting his arm lightly.

Raoul gave her one more big kiss, before setting her down, while still wrapping an arm around her shoulder as he guided them to the parlor.

It was some time later, when Raoul went for a walk around the grounds with their dog Hugo, that a messenger knocked with a message from Monsieur Kahn, disguised as a note from Madame Giry.

 _Things have changed, E going tonight. Pick up at 00:30. If need be, say Mademoiselle Giry wants to see you tomorrow. Otherwise, burn._

 _N.K_

Christine stared at the note blankly before coming to her senses and throwing the missive in the fire. It was very risky as it was that the letter had been sent in such a way. Raoul had never completely gotten over his suspicion of Madame Giry's relationship with the Phantom. When they had fled the Opera Populaire, it had taken weeks before Raoul had allowed the Girys to see Christine, and to this day, Raoul tried to always be close whenever she saw the Madame if he could help it. And, although, Raoul would respect her privacy, he was bound to ask too many questions, and Christine was a good stage actress, but a terrible liar.

 _They had no choice but to send it this way, I guess._

But she really had to formulate a plan with them, as to how to get messages from now.

 _Now, for the actual matter, at hand._

Erik was going to the brothel again tonight. It filled her both with apprehension and inexplicable want. He had enjoyed their brief time so much, that he needed her again already. It set her pulse racing at the thought of being around him again so soon, but _Raoul_.

The breath choked in her lungs at the thought of him finding out and hurting him.

 _She had no choice._

Erik found Madame Canelle in her office. It was the only way through to the hidden entrance to his room, but surprisingly, the Madame was the only one who had the knowledge on how to open the trapdoor, which she refused to share with Erik. It looks like she was also a bit of a _connoisseur_ when it came to keeping things out. He guessed she had to have learned the hard way, given her profession.

Either way, the plump lady got up from behind her chair by the fireplace, and gently made her way to a small cabinet that held a small collection of delicate sugar bowls. _And it just opened_. Each time, Erik tried to see what she did, whether she stepped on a certain floorboard, touched a certain part of the wall, or bowl, but nothing. He was completely befuddled, which he was not used to at all. But he liked a challenge.

He gave a small smirk to Madame, and slid his tall but lean frame through the small gateway, that lead to a narrow space in the wall for a ladder. Erik aptly climbed up to the top, and twisted his body to the small step in the second floor. It just so happened that opening the little hole in the wall, changed the pressure of the room, and blew out the one candle Irene was instructed to leave alight.

She was in her ordered position on the bed and had hidden her face behind her curls _again_.

 _Why would she want to see my hideous face?_

One of the first nights that Erik had ever hired Irene, he had made the mistake of looking up at her while laying down with her. There had been a sliver of moonlight, through a gap in the curtains, and she had immediately frozen beneath him in fear. He had burrowed into her neck and clutched her tighter, an echo of his childhood days, -fearing his mom would leave him, while grabbing on to her skirts, ran through him.

But Irene had had the grace to slowly will herself to relax and even put his arms around him, as his time terminated. _And she had come back._ Although, Erik was no fool, and knew it was his money, which made her look past her revulsion. Suffice to say, he had gone down to Madame Canelle afterwards, and demanded she buy blue, heavy velvet curtains with the money Erik gave her.

 _And here she is, yet again, this slip of a girl, that has become my touch with sanity._

Erik's heartbeat started a gallop within his chest, and he obeyed the impulse to take off his shirt, and be bare chested with Irene. He needed just a _little_ more tonight. Making his way to the foot of the bed, he slowly placed his hand on her dainty ankle. He heard her small intake of breath, but he _felt_ her almost press her skin into his hand.

 _More._

Erik caressed his way up her legs, gathering her chemise until he came to her hips, his fingers going beneath the fabric, and spreading out along her softness, his thumbs feeling the muscles of her stomach quivering. He roughly pulled her down to lay flat on the bed, and placed his good cheek on her lower stomach, deeply inhaling _her_ scent.

 _Christine._

The gaping hole inside of him throbbed painfully at how much he missed her.

Trying to make himself pretend that Irene _was_ Christine, Erik attempted to fuse them by arching her into his bare chest. Her hands flew around his back, her nails digging into his shoulders. Her head came up, and Erik was startled to feel her lips and breath on his neck. Her effort to kiss him, made a bolt of electricity run through his body, and he felt the guilt for feeling like he was betraying Christine. Erik pulled back and rested his forehead on her hot collarbone, feeling her fast breathing ruffle his hair.

After a few moments, Erik felt her lift up her hand to caress his back, " _Don't,"_ he commanded, and he once again felt her body freeze beneath him. He pulled back from her and made to stand by the bathroom door. "That will be all for tonight. I thank you. Please make sure you are gone, by the time I get out." And without turning back, or turning on the bathroom light, Erik went inside it, and left the girl still prostrated on the ruffled bed. He firmly closed the door.

He leaned against it, as he heard Irene dressing and trying to stifle her small sniffles.

Erik was fighting everything inside of him not to go back and see her in the light.

AN2: Please Review!


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